


Speakeasy

by neontiger55



Category: White Collar
Genre: Dubious humour, Gen, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-11 11:50:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neontiger55/pseuds/neontiger55
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three FBI agents and a conman walk into a bar... Or, the weirdest thing Neal and Mozzie ever stole (allegedly).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speakeasy

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to Sholio's prompt (as the second half of the summary) on collar corner (LJ)

 

“Never have I ever - ” Jones paused and thought carefully. He looked at Neal and grinned. “ - stolen anything.”  
  
Neal groaned. “That’s really not fair.”  
  
“What, that I haven’t committed any felonies?”  
  
Neal looked at Jones disbelievingly. “You’ve never stolen _anything_? Not even a piece of candy?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
Peter pushed the shot glass across the table towards Neal. “Drink up, Sticky Fingers.” Neal glared at him but took the shot without further protest, wincing as the burn of the alcohol hit the back of his throat.  
  
“I think you owe us more than one shot for that, Caffrey,” Diana said, looking unimpressed.   
  
Neal smiled sweetly at her. “Then I think it’s your round.”  
  
Deciding that prevention was better than the cure where Neal and Diana’s bickering was concerned, Peter headed towards the bar, pushing his way through the Friday night crowds. It had been a rough week at the bureau; a case they had worked on relentlessly had fallen apart in court despite their best efforts and a clearly guilty man had walked free, taking thousands of dollars of other people's life savings with him. With little else to do before the weekend they had retreated to a little sports bar across the street from the bureau to lick their wounds.  
  
As he waited to be served, Peter glanced back to the dimly lit corner table where they’d taken up residence and smiled; Neal was telling a story in an animated fashion, one that apparently required the assistance of a beer mat, a bowl of nuts and a cell phone to fully illustrate his point. They were all a little worse for wear, their ties loosened, shirts untucked and sleeves rolled. Even Neal had a vague air of dishevelment about him, his posture a little looser, hair tousled. 

Eventually Peter attracted the attention of the barman and, balancing the glasses and bottles in his hands, he made his way back towards the table. “So, what are we talking about?” he asked, setting the drinks down.

Jones reached for his beer. “Weirdest cases.”  
  
“Or, for Neal, weirdest _hypothetical_ jobs,” Diana said, rolling her eyes.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“So, c’mon, Peter," Jones said. "Spill. You must have seen a few in your time."  
  
“Oh, there have been some pretty…unusual crimes. Though most of them involve a certain con man and his vertically challenged friend.”  
  
Neal wrinkled his nose. “I think the word you’re looking for is sublime - masterful - genius.”  
  
“And I think the word you’re looking for is _allegedly_ ,” Peter said, lips twitching in amusement at Neal’s withering look. “You know, I do remember this one case a few years back. An agent from the bureau was called in to consult by the local detectives - the Palagi job in Bologna, ever heard of it?”  
  
Diana nodded, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Oh, I don’t think there’s an FBI agent left who hasn’t heard that one.”  
  
“It rings a bell,” Neal said, casually, taking a long drink of his wine.  
  
Jones looked affronted. “ _This_ FBI agent hasn’t heard it.”  
  
Peter smiled and leaned back in his chair, getting comfortable; he had always loved telling this story. “It was the summer of 2004 – ”  
  
“In fair Bologna where we lay our scene?”  
  
Peter swatted the back of Neal’s head and continued. “One night there’s a break in at this big archaeology museum – ”  
  
“The _Museo Civico Archeologico_ ,” Neal added in a flawless Italian accent.  
  
“That’s what I said. Big Archaelogy museum. Anyway, so a guard making his rounds discovers that these priceless Egyptian burial items from Horemheb’s tomb have somehow vanished from their display cases in the forty minutes since he last walked by. And we’re not talking pottery here - I mean big, heavy items. The alarms are still on, nothing is smashed or broken. There's barely a sign that anyone has even been inside, aside from the missing art, of course.”  
  
Jones whistled. “Damn impressive.”  
  
“They certainly knew what they were doing,” Neal agreed.  
  
“So of course all hell breaks loose and the police are up in arms. The trail is completely cold and no one has any idea how it was done.” Peter took a swig of his beer. “The next day, amidst the chaos, someone files a missing persons report. A nun had disappeared that very same night, but of course, missing priceless artifacts trump a missing person every time.”  
  
“Even a nun?” Jones asked.  
  
“Even a nun,” Peter nodded solemnly. “But two days later, the nun turns up at a police station in Milan saying she had been kidnapped. Apparently, she had gone out for a short walk during the night to get some air because of the heat or whatever and on her way, she happened to pass by a van in an alleyway near to the museum. The back roller door was half open and the van clearly loaded, but no one was around. So, being a Good Samaritan, she went to close it, only when she pulled down the roller shutter it was heavier than she expected, she tripped, and the thing rolled down and clicked shut with her inside the van.”  
  
Jones choked on his beer. “You're kidding?”  
  
Peter shook his head. “Next thing she knew, the van was driving off with her and a massive Egyptian sculpture rolling around in the back!”  
  
“Then what happened?” Jones asked.  
  
“The thieves drove for a couple of hours before they pulled over to check on their goods and realized what had happened. Apparently, they waited until they got to Switzerland, apologised profusely and put her on the next train back to Italy, first class.”  
  
“Seriously? They just let her go?”  
  
“Sounds pretty honourable if you ask me,” Neal muttered.  
  
Diana wiped the tears from her eyes. “You have to wonder about some of these criminals. I mean, they pull off a _flawless_ heist but are nearly foiled by a nun with insomnia?”  
  
Jones laughed. “It’s pretty rich!”  
  
Neal adjusted his tie, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles. “Hey, y’know, sometimes things just don’t go according to plan, okay? Everyone can be where they’re supposed to be and take what they’re supposed to take. There’s no accounting for bad luck.”  
  
Peter’s hand paused, his beer bottle inches away from his mouth, eyes narrowing. Everyone stopped and turned to look at Neal, who was shifting under the scrutiny. There was a momentary silence as the penny dropped.  
  
“It was you? You stole a _nun_?!”  
  
“Peter – ”  
  
“A nun, Neal. A _nun_ ,” Peter hissed. The passing bartender gave Peter a strange look as he snagged the empties from their table.  
  
“Look, it’s really not what it allegedly sounds like.”  Neal shivered. He’d never forget the shock at opening the back of that van on a deserted stretch of Italian road, only to find an old nun blinking owlishly at him and Mozzie.  
  
“It _sounds_ like you stole a nun.”  
  
“We let her go.”  
  
“Not before you smuggled her across the Swiss border!”  
  
“Sister Rosita was very understanding – ”  
  
Diana shook her head. “You are incorrigible.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Peter suddenly groaned and put his head in his hands. “Oh, everything makes perfect sense now! It really should have twigged when the nun stated that one of her kidnappers was ‘polite and devilishly handsome.'”  
  
Neal flashed Peter a beaming grin, eyes brightening. “She did?”  
  
“Christ, Neal!”  
  
“Whoa, hey, no need for blasphemy, Peter.”  
  
Neal ducked just in time to avoid the bowl of nuts Peter threw at his head, grateful that the incident with the nun had at least distracted everyone from awkward questions about missing Egyptian artifacts and Swiss storage facilities.

 

 

 

 

 

_End._


End file.
